Dreams and Shore Leave
by EccentricSpock
Summary: Jim and Spock. "Problem in Intellectual Paradise." Spirk/Kock/Spork. Startrek, Slash
1. Chapter 1

This had to be a dream—actually, this was a dream. A to-much-coffee, to-long-a-shift, I'm-so-freaking-tired type of dream where your mind decided 'guess what? I'm going to make you question your sanity.' One of those dreams that you've heard other people talk about and to yourself think 'wow, someone's on something.' Then you have one and are like 'I think I need a doctor.'

It was one of those dreams where Spock was dressed in a teal suit, with a gold vest, and a teal top hat with a gold band, and was holding out a pristine white glove to you and watching you expectantly. It was one of those dreams where Jim had on a long, flowing lavender gown, with white silk gloves and petty coats and shoes that clicked like horse's hooves on concrete. One of those dreams where he took Spock's waiting hand and let himself in all his princess-y glory be lead out onto a ballroom dance floor, to Bones on a Vulcan harp and Scotty playing keyboard; one of those dreams where he wrapped his arms around Spock's neck and pressed himself as close as he could to the other man just to know he was there, as some sort of quazi-reality, something solid and oh so very warm.

And they danced. And Jim was on top of the world, even if he was in a freaky purple dress and teal was so not Spock's colour, but that was okay because Spock was focused on him and only him. And he quite liked that scenario—the one where Spock seemed to actually care he existed. They spun, and Jim was dipped, and those chocolate eyes were centimeters from him, and warm lips were just there and if he leaned just a bit further he could taste them. Then something startled his dance partner (another reality check that yes Jim, you're dreaming, Spock doesn't get startled), and he was dropped onto the hard marble floor. He heard it too, an annoying, mechanical 'beep beep' that completely ruined the mood set, and completely ruined his chances to find out 'does Spock really taste as sweet as his breath smells?'

He cracked his eyes open to the curved metallic ceiling of his chamber, alarm clock squealing at him in a voice most men would feel akin to their mother-in-law's, and he sat up. It took him a moment to find the screaming creation in the dark, but when he did he hit that 'shut up' button (that he often wished some of his crew had as well) so hard it knocked the little thing off his nightstand.

"Lights, sixty percent."

They faded into life and he blinked rapidly to adjust, before swinging his legs over the side of his bunk. He'd be late for shift again.

Oh well.

A stretch, a shower, and a new clean uniform later, he was taking his sweet time to weave around the corridors of his ship towards the bridge. He decided to prolong the shift just a bit longer, turning into the mess hall to replicate himself a cup of warm coffee that, if it wasn't brown and had caffeine in it, he'd wonder what exactly it was he was drinking. As he waited for the little humming machine to hurl out his life-juice, he listened with one ear to the low buzz of crewman talking over breakfast, or in some cases lunch or dinner. Some chattered about some transitions, others about various alien holidays coming around the calendar's corner. One conversation, however, caught his attention and he mentally backpedaled to find the voice again.

"…and I think Mr. Spock is really upset."

The little black door 'swished' at him, and revealed a porcelain mug of molten caffeine to him. He took it, moving to lean near the replicator and drink it nonchalantly. Mr. Spock was upset? That was quite unusual indeed.

Wasn't that Jim's job though?

"Mr. Spock, upset? That's odd." Hey, kindred spirits.

"Incredibly. But, have you not noticed he and Lieutenant Uhura?" Unfortunately, Jim provided himself mentally.

"Yeah, they've been kind of a couple since the academy. Right?"  
"Well, I saw them arguing."

"Mr. Spock argues?" 'You stole my words, Ensgin.' Jim arched a brow, looking very interested in a particular potted plant just in front of him.

"Well, he wasn't. But she was, she was right up in his business, telling him that 'a relationship is a two-way street' and stuff like that."

"Oooh, sounds like trouble in intellectual paradise."  
"Jim," He jumped, turning and cursing as some coffee sloshed over the edge of his cup and onto his hand. "…Interesting fern?" Bones arched a brow.

"Shut up, fuck that's hot." He switched hands, shaking the coffee off pointedly in McCoy's general direction. "What's up?"  
"Need some ice?"  
"I'll survive. What do you need?"  
"You, actually." He crossed his arms. "You're an hour late for your shift, and Spock is about to come on a hunt."

"It's been an hour? Gee, I had no idea." He smiled around his cup as he took a sip. "Hey. Can I ask you something?"  
"Anything Jim, you know that." He leaned against the wall. "What can I do you for?"  
"You know anything about dreams? Like, dream analysis?"  
"Dreams? No, I don't dabble in the human psyche. Or any psyche. I'm a doctor, Jim, not a psychologist." He pushed off the wall with his shoulder. "Uhura might. I can ask Miss Chapel if she ever took a class?"  
"Nah, it's cool. I just need to remind myself not to eat potato chips before bed." He shoved off the wall with a grunt, running his free hand through his hair. "Damn it, Bones, you made me late for my shift again. Stop doing that, or I'm going to have to report you for…something convoluted and difficult for me to read." He flashed him a smile and wandered out of the mess hall. "Later."  
"…" McCoy shook his head, going to get himself breakfast.

"We are supremely overjoyed you decided to join us, Captain," Uhura didn't look up from her station when the turbo lift doors swung open. Jim just flashed her a smile, catching Spock move out of the Captain's chair and to his own station out of the corner of his head.

"How's the course?"  
"Warp six, Keptin. No turbulence expected, leaving us about six hours out."  
"Fantastic. An easy flight is a happy flight." He stepped up onto the raised platform, then sat down with a comfortable 'thunk.' "Where are we going again?"  
"Gavlion-See. In the Forth quadrant." He looked over his shoulder at the back of Spock's head. "A level E planet that is capable of sustaining humanoid life. Its indigenous life, however, is strictly botanical. The foliage is akin to some rainforests. Built by the Orgathians as a recreational sight."

"We're spending leave there?"  
"Indeed, in one of their newer facilities."

"Sounds like some good old R and R." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his knees.  
"Are and are, Captain?"  
"Rest and relaxation, Spock. Just what the doctor ordered."  
"I do not believe Doctor McCoy has issued such a request."  
"…It's a figure of speech." He looked back over his shoulder. Spock just blinked at him once, before returning to his monitor. Jim eyed him a moment, tried again to picture him in a teal suit and top hat, before returning to the view screen. "Mr. Scott, warp six."

"Aye, Captain."

Spock was, of course, right. The entire planet was one huge rainforest, only humanoid life forms were those few who worked the 'rest resort' they were staying at, and the few other starship visitors who had passed by this quadrant. Jim stretched his arms above his head, taking in a long, slow breath of green plants and moist air.

"Smells good, doesn't it?"  
"Lovely," Uhura sighed, looking around the inside of the very Hawaiian-luau-esque resort. "Very open, very…rustic."  
"Seems a bit frilly ta me," Scotty mumbled, eyeing one of the orange-skinned woman who took their bags and lead them towards their rooms.

"Oh hush," Uhura looked at him, smiling. "Just enjoy it."  
"She's got a point." Jim smiled. "What do you think, Mr. Spock?"  
"It will be sufficient in what it is essentially built for." He had his arms crossed his hand his back, examining the architecture with mild interest as they walked. Uhura looked disgruntled for a moment, but lost it to a smile as a pair of small children being chased by their mother ran by. "How curious. She can not get them to obey a verbal reprimand nor command."  
"It's called being a kid, Spock." Jim gave him a look. Uhura looked further disgruntled, stopping at her room, giving Spock a eye that would make most men collapse, and shut her door soundly behind her. "…Geez, what crawled up her skirt."  
"I do no—"  
"Figure of Speech, Spock."

Two days in, and Jim was mush on a lawn chair by a natural rock pool. A waterfall chimed and chortled not to far away, wafting a sweet mist over him as he half napped beneath the duel suns overhead. He sighed softly, curling his fingers around the cool, long neck of a fruity alcoholic something and sipped it, letting it rest on his tongue. Shore leave was wonderful, but he could already feel the itch to be back on the bridge clawing hesitantly at the back of his brain. He took another drink to that. After another few moments of quiet sunbathing, something clouded the light away and he opened his eyes.

"Captain."  
"Hello, Spock." Jim sat up, face betraying his surprise. Spock, in blue swim trucks, and a black T-shirt. And flip flips. "Oh my God." He tried not to laugh.  
"Please inform Lieutenant Uhura that she is to return to the ship and retrieve my possessions she has since return to it."  
"No." And here she came, all sweet curves, caramel skin and red bikini. Mm. "No no /no/. You are on vacation for a week, like hell are you going to wear black pants and a uniform shirt and tricord plants we already know about!"

"Tricord is not a word, Lieutenant."  
"I don't care." He poked his arm.

"She's got a point," Jim shrugged. Spock's eyes turned very cold. "I mean, it is vacation, Spock. Let loose a little."  
"My current clothing is not a requirement for my own relation."

"You're wearing what I've brought for you and you'll like it."  
"Lieutenant, I find your limitations unacceptable insub—"  
"Wear it, Spock," Jim chimed in. They both looked at him, with varying degrees of gratitude and spite. "I mean come on. It's not that bad. You've got the body for it."

Did Spock's cheeks turn green just then?

"…" His posture became rigid again and his hands went behind his back. "I find myself unfavorable of this type of attire."  
"Looks good on you, just go with it." Jim smiled. "That's an order."

"…Yes, Captain." With that, he turned on his heel and flip-flopped away, leaving Jim and Uhura to watch him and check out that ass. Well, at least let Jim check out that ass.

"…Problems in paradise?" Jim tilted his head, looking up to see her expression shift from irate and sad to neutral. She met his gaze, faulted, then sat down near his knees and looked back at the retreating form of her boyfriend. He arched a brow.  
"I can't believe I'm going to talk to you about this." He took a breath. "…I just…don't think he cares. I don't feel it anymore, you know?"  
"No, I have absolutely no clue what you mean."  
"Of course you don't." She rolled her eyes, then looked down at her lap. "I use to be able to see it, kind of. In his eyes, that he cared. It was just something I could see now and again, and it reassured me that yes, he loved me, even if he didn't ever say it straight out; which was fine, because I understand that about him. But lately…lately, it's like he doesn't even see me when I talk to him. He seems distracted, like his attention is elsewhere. Our conversations are tense and much more formal than they used to be."

"Spock can be informal?" She ignored him.

"And like, about the clothes? Last month when we found out about this shore leave, he assured me he would wear what I've packed for him. And now he's all bent out of shape because he feels 'uncomfortable'." She wrung her hands. "We're arguing a lot, and it just…it feels like we're going no where fast. Like we're running right for a 'road ends, cliff' sign and I can't stop it." She sniffled.

Oh God, Jim though. Don't cry.  
"Want a drink?" Nice save.

"…" She nodded, looking up at the sky and taking a long breath. He held out his fruity whatever it was and she took it with a tiny, grateful smile and sipped from the straw. "Thanks."  
"I'm not really a guy for long term shit, but. It sounds like you two either need to sit down with a third party and talk this over, or you two are going head first into splitsville."

"Would you do it?" She looked at him. "You know him better than anyone but me. Would you?"  
"Would I what?"  
"Be the third party?"

"…Sure." The smile she gave him would melt a man's heart right out of his chest.  
"Thank you, Jim." She hugged his neck, then handed his drink back. "Thank you so much."  
"Uhuh, yeah, sure. I saved a planet, I can save a relationship."

Nope. No he couldn't.

By the end of that evening, Uhura had run out of the room in sobs and Spock was now stiff-backed, and tilted to the left in his seat, staring at the wall like it was just the most incredible new discovery ever discovered.

"…Well." He clapped his hands on his knees, and Spock's attention was brought back to him. "That royally sucked. I need a beer. Want to come?"

Spock stared at him for a long moment, looking almost thoughtful, before standing. "I will accompany you."  
"Excellent. Do you drink, Mr. Spock?" He turned, making his way into the hall. Spock was a warm body right on his heels.

"Very rarely, and only on diplomatic occasions where it would be rude to refuse an offered beverage."

"I offer you a beverage and would be hurt if you didn't take it."

"I must decline."  
"I'm hurt."  
"I'm sure."

They sat and talked for a while, and Jim managed to convince (plead, beg, and order) Spock to have at least two martinis and, much to Jim's amusement, a third by Spock's request. He liked the olives, was his defense. Which wasn't a very good defense, considering Vulcan's weren't suppose to have a preference of things. But, Jim had managed to get him to have three glasses, and the tension was finally out of Spock's shoulders. He was more relaxed in his hair, turning his glass exactly 180 degrees and staring into the clear liquid with nothing akin to any expression Jim could properly classify. He opened his mouth to ask, but Spock beat him to it.

"Am I a monstrosity, Jim?"

Jim stumbled over his words. "Uh, huh?"  
"It would seem I have been in error, in my actions towards Nyota." He stopped spinning his glass, blinking slowly. "I have become cold to her."  
"Aren't you always cold to everyone?" That got him a raised brow and a blank look. "I mean, isn't your 'I feel nothing' your normal…norm?"  
"I do not 'feel nothing', Captain." There went their first-name basis. "I am merely capable of taming unnecessary emotional reactions."  
"Like telling Uhura you love her."  
"Precisely."

"Do you still love her?"  
"I do not." Leave it to Spock to be blunt about that. "However, I do still care for her."  
"Like, friends?"

"Affirmative." He looked back down at his glass and began spinning it again. "I am unsure how to, as is common terminology, 'break it to her gently.'"

"Do you want me to?" He picked up his beer, spinning the liquid before taking a sip. "I'm good at that."

"It is not so simple."  
"How so?"  
"There is…another, who has become a source of emotional attachment." He almost frowned, a flicker of the edges of his mouth. Jim actually grinned.

"Whoa, hold up. You like another chick?"

"That is not what I said," He looked up again. "There is merely another to whom I have found myself attracted."

"Wo-ow." Jim sat back, unable to cover his smile. "Wow. You like another chick."  
"Again, Captain, that is not what I said."

They stared at each other, Spock's eyes barely touched by a buzz-induced fog. His eyes didn't waver, and remained hard and obviously alert to what he was saying. Jim's smile began to fade, then became a mask of blank realization.

"…You don't like another girl."  
"No, Captain."  
"….Oh. Shit."

I got supremely discouraged by this point in this story. I may or may not write the second(final) section. If I should, comment. I may get back into the idea. Thanks guys. –sigh-


	2. Chapter 2

"You don't like another girl."  
"No, Captain."  
"Oh. Shit."

"You like a dude."

"Affirmative."  
"Shit." Jim ran a hand down his face, and watched Spock drain damn near that entire martini in one go. Well, least he wasn't the only one who needed a stiff drink by this point.

Spock stared into the empty glass, and his brows began to knit together.

"Who?"  
"That is personal information." Spock looked up abruptly. "Do not seek to inquire further on this subject."

"Geez, you were the one asking for help." Jim frowned. Spock actually fidgeted in his seat, a little twitched of his shoulders, and looked back down at his glass. "Want another one?"  
"I do."  
"Hey, Waiter."

They sat like that for quite some time, letting hours tick by in their own littler corner of the world. Spock stopped after four, obviously uneasy with the amount he had already consumed. Jim kept right on trucking, leaving himself half plastered across the table by the night's end. They talked only briefly about Spock's problem, about how he came to realize, about how to tell Uhura and not be a total dick about it. Then Spock turned the subject, which was his specialty, Jim decided, to a more Jim-related topic and that was just fine. It got Jim talking, and kept him talking for the most part; about step fathers and car fetishes; about high school and prom night. About his first kegger, about his mother (which he danced around very delicately, despite Spock's obvious interest in the subject); about Iowa, about Riverside. It surprised him, however, how very clueless Spock was about Terran outside of the academy. He knew his mother was born in Canada, which made Jim giggle despite himself and confess he could see Spock in a mounty uniform (he kept quite about top hats). Spock merely raised a brow at him, before prompting Jim onto another subject that got Jim's mouth going and it just wouldn't close. Jim sudden felt self conscious, halfway through a sentence about his preference in sneakers because those leather boots Starfleet issued caused blisters on the back of his ankle if he didn't wear the right socks. Spock had been staring at him intently since the beginning of their conversation, his focus hadn't wavered. The way Spock's interested could be so unbroken for so long, it was a feat indeed. But the fact that it was on Jim, for, looking at the clock he guessed four hours, that was something no one had ever truly offered him. Total attention, and the willingness to just listen, just sit and hear him out, wait out his bitching about menial things, and take in the information with no sort of judgment on his character. He felt a warm blush sneak up his neck, and cough softly as he sat up. Spock arched a brow.

"A problem, Jim?" Yay first names.

"I think I've had enough." The brow brushed his hairline. "What?"  
"You practicing conservatism is not something I ever assumed I would witness." Jim laughed.

"I'm a captain now. I have to take some sort of responsibility. Even if I don't want to." Did he see his lips twitch? That brought his own smile to the surface. "However, I think I might need some help to my room."  
"It is—"  
"I mean help me get there," He rolled his eyes, getting up. He found the edge of the table for support and the room took a pleasant sideways tilt. "Mm." Spock didn't even attempt to question, standing and going over to wrap Jim's arm around his shoulders, one of his own snaking around Jim's waist. Jim blushed despite himself, and let himself be half dragged towards his chamber.  
"If I may make a suggestion."  
"Shoot."  
"Do not become so inebriated in the future, Jim." He stopped outside of his door, and slid his card. "It is most often in an inebriated state that people find themselves in a compromising position."

Jim detached himself and shoved the door open, before looking back at Spock with a grin.

"Spock, I don't know if you've heard. But I love to find myself in compromising positions."  
"I have noticed." He crossed his arms behind his back, but his shoulders remained lax. There was a moment where neither of them moved, where something should have happened, though Jim wasn't sure what, but didn't and so it past without action. Spock nodded. "Good evening, Captain." He turned crisply on his flip-flopped heel and walked away. Jim tried not to giggle with the 'thlip-thlop' of the shoes accompanying such stiff posture, and wove his way to his bed. After a very uncoordinated shower, he found himself staring again at the ceiling and contemplating the evenings events. Okay, so he may have really not helped Uhura out, but he may have helped Spock out a little with his new found homosexualism. Was that a word? Probably not. He mentally waved it off. He came to the conclusion that, yes. He'd had a very nice time talking for who knows how long, to his Vulcan first officer, who five months back tried to have him killed. Twice. He had told his first officer things he has probably only ever told Bones, and was relieved when Spock didn't storm away in disgust at his emotional irrationalism. And he still had that stupid vision of Spock bent in half, offering him a silk glove and an expectant look, waiting to dance with Princess Ponce in the purple dress.

He blinked once, tilting his head.

Okay, so he liked Spock. A lot. He was a good guy, a smart man, and was in general becoming the good friend the older Spock had informed him he would become. He was quick and thorough, a brilliant listener, and always had good advice. He was very hott, had a great ass, and had this almost-smile that blew Jim away. And it was so god damn cute when he blushed. Okay, so he liked Spock.

Did Spock like him? That would be ironic. Mr. Logical falling in love with Captain Crazy. Yeah, that would turn out well. If Spock had a man-crush, it was probably on Bones, which would still be very odd since Bones took every possible chance he had to inform Spock that he was being an ass, and should stop, else he get a hypo to the neck. Maybe Sulu? He was quite, reserved and well mannered. And smart. Hm.

He closed his eyes and swept those thoughts into 'maybe later.' He felt heavy with liquor, and his bed felt progressively softer and more inviting the longer he laid there. He ended his consciousness with a pleasant thought of Spock walking pointedly and very quickly down the hall followed by an angry Bones with a hypo.

Ha. Take that, Mr. Logic.

Another dream, he decided. Or a continuation? In either case, he wasn't complaining in the least, staring into expectant chocolate eyes. He felt the heavy weight of silk around him, felt heavy metal hanging off his ears, and those cloppy shoes. But he didn't care, he didn't fell self conscious taking Spock's expectant hand. It was slower, the way Spock moved almost as if he'd break him. Bones was on the harp again, Scotty rocking out on the keyboard. Spock wrapped his arm around Jim's waist in a very familiar fashion, but the connection was a distant blur in his mind and he didn't feel like thinking to hard on it. He wrapped his arms around Spock's teal collar, and they locked eyes again. Spock was gentle, a soft caress saying 'step left' or a tentative tug asking 'turn with me now?' He pressed their chests together, and their shoes made horse-shoe noises on the marble floor. They spun, they stepped, and it was slow and it was flowing it he felt suddenly at home, right here, right now. With Spock watching him like that, almost curious, almost intrigued, and totally focused. The lights around them faded out, the sound dwindled. Their shoes went silent. They were turning and spinning and stepping in space, surrounded by stars rushing past his head in a dull roar. He closed his eyes and let himself laugh, letting it catch in their turn and it wound around them like a soft blanket it. It was just Spock, it was just Jim, and it was Space. His home, his turf. His first officer. Then the room came back in a tidal wave, knocking the breath out of him as the world tilted, and the arm around his waist moved to the small of his back. And he was bent over it gently, lowered enough to staring almost totally upwards into molten eyes. And there was a pregnant pause between them, where they just froze that way, and the lights were bright, and the room was empty, and his blood rushed in his ears. Spock was there, and waiting again with that expectant look, and his lips were just there and if Jim moved just a bit he could almost taste him.

So he did.

He felt like someone had shoved a cattle prod into his heart. His body felt numb, and his eyes went wide. Spock looked down at him with a smile in his eyes, a look that whispered 'yes, that was what I wanted.' He tilted his head, he closed his eyes. Jim felt a soft brush of a hot tongue, and that electric feeling shot in two totally different directions, the PG version, his lips being one. He took a breath against those velvet lips, and the tongue entered, hot and somewhat strangely rough and tasted like sweet taffy and chocolate and a flower. He pulled him closer, and closed his eyes to match his partner. His heart fluttered, his face flushed. He felt at home and exposed, he felt right and wrong, he felt alien and so totally familiar. They were moving again, and Jim was upright, his balance told him, and they were still then. Just standing, just hugging, just kissing and holy shit was Spock a kisser. A talented mind, and a talented tongue. What a fucking combination. He groaned despite himself, and the tongue left him. He felt cold. His eyes sprang open to those expectant, chocolate eyes. They swirled with a quiet desire, something more animal than a human's lust, and more gentle than a child's laugh. His body lit on fire again, and he nodded once. One of Spock's hands left him to whip his hat off in a dramatic gesture, then he was away and bowing. Jim pressed his one silk fingers to his lips and curtsied, and Spock smiled at him. All teeth, genuine and up to make his eyes crinkle in a very attractive way. Jim's breath was gone again.

He smiled back.

He woke up with one of the worst hang over's and an atrocious boner, but it was worth it.

He convinced himself to climb out of bed around noon, took a cold shower, and got into a pair of clean shorts. His goal was pool, booze, hot waitress, bed. He was intercepted around the 'pool' part, when he rounded a corner to see Uhura quite literally 'all up in Spock's business.' Their chests were almost touching, and she had that 'you will do what I say, bitch' look on her face. He was calm as any other day, arms tight behind his back and shoulders tense. He backpedalled, leaning against the wall to listen.  
"What is that even suppose to mean? I'm not 'satisfactory.'" Oh dear.

"I believe it is self-explanitory, Nyota."

"It's Christine, isn't it."  
"I beg your pardon?"  
"Christine. Christine Chapel, McCoy's new little assistant. She's got googley-eyes for you and has she get hopped aboard. You like her, don't you."  
"I am afraid the relationship Nurse Chapel and I have is strictly professiona—"  
"Don't give me that." Her voice waved. Jim closed his eyes, praying to some magic omnipotent being that she didn't begin to cry again. "If you don't want to be with me anymore, just tell me, okay?"  
"I do not desire to participate in a romantic relationship with you, Nyota." Jim heard a soft intake of breath. "I do not understand your shock. You just informed me that if that was my desire, then I should promptly portray it as such."

"…I see." She was quiet. "…Well. There it is then."  
"Nyota." He was quiet as well. "It is not Christine. It is not you. It is…an unexpected development in myself that has lead me to this conclusion. I still care for you, but no longer in a romantic fashion."  
"You still want to be friends."

"It was be a most logical decision, because of our current assignment of command. As well as a preference I am willing to admit." She sniffled.

"It's not Christine?"  
"It's not Christine."  
"…All right." She sighed. "I'm sorry, it just…you know I love you, Spock. But, okay. I can handle this."  
"I have the upmost faith in you."

"….Thanks," she sounded almost happy. There was a shuffle, Jim expected a hug, and then soft footsteps as someone padded away. Silence. Then;

"You may show yourself now, Jim." Damn. He'd been caught.

"That went a hell of a lot better than any of my break-ups." Brow lift off.  
"I apologize if my—"  
"No need to apologize." He clapped Spock on the shoulder and his brow went a bit higher. "It's a good thing you two wont be enemies now. I'd hate to cut that sort of tension with a knife." He rested his hands on his hips. "Besides, pissing you off is my job."  
"I do not become 'pissed off,' Jim."  
"Liar." He took his elbow, dragging him down the hall. "Come on, I'm headed to the pool. Nice trunks." Black. Defiantly his color. "Lets go check out some chicks."

"I have no desire to watch women, Jim."  
"Pretend to watch the chicks and look at the dudes instead?"

He received a silent response of a sarcastic 'oh yes, so much better,' and dragged him on anyway.

He found them a pair of nice chairs and dipped himself into the rock pool. He stayed under a bit, relaxing himself in the warm water, before breaking surface again with a dramatic exhale. Spock just sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles.

For a guy who didn't like rest and relaxation, he looked pretty hot doing it.

He crossed his arms on top of one of the rocks, resting his chin on them. A little girl in a short skirt sauntered over, holding up a silver tray.

"You boys need anything?"  
"I'll have a Bud light Classic."  
"Water," Spock looked at her. She smiled at him, nodded, then sashayed away. "Do you believe it is an intergalactic request that women who work at such establishments have to have skirts that are only nine inches long?" He watched her walk away, before looking at Jim. "I have yet to see a waitress with a skirt of professional length."  
"It's for tips." Jim shrugged. "It gets the men looking, something else besides a pretty face and good beer to appreciate. Statistically, shorter skirts are correlated with higher tips." Spock nodded, looking vaguely intrigued.

"Fascinating."

"The way of the male mind in fascinating."  
"I believe I understand the male mind."  
"Perhaps your mind. Maybe all Vulcan males, but you're not a whiz when it comes so someone's mind like, say, mine."  
"There is no mind to examine, Jim."  
"…Did you just make a joke?" Spock responded with a raised brow. Jim laughed, heaving himself out of the pool. "Ouch, my ego. But seriously, the male mind, that isn't yours, usually consists of sex, booze, and hot women. My mom used to tell me in between boyfriends that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach."  
"Technically it is his rib cage, in humans."  
"It's another figure of speech." He got up from the rocks and wrung out the bottom of his trunks. "Means, if you cook good, you'll get a man easier than if you can't cook. It's kind of derogatory, but inherently true." He sat down in the chair beside Spock, leaning to pat his knee. "So, since you're interested in a dude, might want to learn to cook something besides vegan shit. Real men like meat." He got a irate look. "Real, non-vulcan-men like meat."  
"Acknowledged."

The woman sauntered over with their drinks, smiling welcomingly at them both, before standing back. "Can I get you boys anything else?"  
"I think we'll be fine." Jim gave a mock salute, sipping the foam off the top of his beer. She nodded and moved on to the next group of people. "She's cute."  
"She is fundamentally attractive, yes."  
"Is that how you find people 'attractive'?" Jim looked at him. Spock looked up at him over the rim of his water. "Like, do you classify them as fundamental, or logical, or what. How /do/ you become attracted to someone?"  
Spock set his drink down but didn't let it got for a short while, staring at it thoughtfully. "I assume it is the same process most go through. I first recognize a personality congruent with mine, one that would be capable of connecting to my own. I would then be drawn to them by said connection, and eventually it would become a type of companionship. I suppose if it is to progress further, I become more alert to their physical attributes, and if they are of my personal taste, it most likely will become a type of attraction."

"So you either put them in your friend circle, or in your 'attractive' circle."  
"Correct."  
"But you go with personality first."  
"To become romantically attached to someone purely by looks, only to find them incompatible with myself would be an illogical venture, and can be consequently avoided by observation of personality before hand."

"Good point." He lifted his beer to that, before taking a sip.

"Do you not go through a similar process?" That caught him a bit off guard, but he shrugged it off.

"Not really. I'm not into relationships, Spock. Not like you are."  
"Like I am?"  
"You're one of those 'commitment' types. I'm not into that." He set his beer back down, gesticulating with his unoccupied hand. "I'm the 'Im drunk, you're drunk, we're both hot, lets go fuck." Pause. "And sometimes they're no longer hot when I get up in the morning, but. You get my drift."

Something about Spock seemed to wilt, though no part of him showed the change. It was his eyes, Jim decided, they way they abandoned their intense gaze into his own in favor of watching the waterfall on the other side of the pool.  
"Yes, I do believe I do."  
"Awesome. Sure you don't want a beer, or a martini?" He laid back in his own chair, watching him with curiosity. The wilt vanished, leaving the neutrality Jim was accustomed to.

"No, Captain, I do not drink."  
"Much."  
"…Much."

Okay, this may be more than two parts. . It kind of got a bit more out of hand than I planned for it to. But this is a point where I need to start a new section. I don't like this as much as the first part, but then again, I never do. So.

If I should continue it, I will (hopefully) only write one more section. And only if you guys think I should.

We'll see.


	3. Chapter 3

"Awesome. Sure you don't want a beer, or a martini?" He laid back in his own chair, watching him with curiosity. The wilt vanished, leaving the neutrality Jim was accustomed to.  
"No, Captain, I do not drink."  
"Much."  
"…Much."

"That seems weird," Kirk finally mused aloud, looking at his companion. The pool was cool, the air was warm, and Spock was staring at something across the way with eyes barely open. He looked damn near about to fall asleep, Jim thought silently. Spock didn't bother looking at him, merely crossing his hands over his stomach lethargically. Waiting for an explanation, Jim' screamed in his head. "I mean like. Don't you want to think someone is attractive, then begin to talk to them and see if they work? I mean, what if someone who fits your personality, is like, butt-ugly."

Spock looked at him then, barely opening his eyes further. "Finding someone attractive before assessing their personality compatibility has subsequently placed me in my current predicament." Jim blinked.

"You like a dude because you thought he was hot first?" There was that tint again in his cheeks.

"It would seem." He looked back out at the pool, picking his glass up with his finger tips. "And despite our obvious personality difference, I can not deter myself from finding his presence favorable, and demeanor endearing."

"So even though he's an idiot you still like being around him." Spock glanced at him with an expression that showed every possible guard he had up was in high gear.

"Correct."  
"…That's illogical," Jim grinned. Spock arched a brow, then relaxed back in his lawn chair and closed his eyes.

"Yes." Well, that just blew all Jim's steam out the window. He pouted, leaning back on his own chair.

"…So." He drank down the dregs of his beer, then set the cup down. "Can I guess who?"  
"If you would desire."

"Will you tell me if I guess correct?"  
"No."

"Damn." He frowned, crossing his ankles and bouncing a foot. "Hm. I'll guess anyway." Spock nodded in his peripheral vision. "McCoy?"  
"There is nothing pleasing about Doctor McCoy in any sense of the word." Jim laughed.

"Sorry, had to ask. Um…Chekov?"  
"He is to young."

"Good point. Su—"  
"Would you like another?" The cute little waitress from before sauntered over, smiling quite lovely. "Coors?"  
"Whatever you've got that's cold," He smiled back, all blue eyes and charm, and handed her the empty mug. She giggled, wiggling her hips as she walked away. "Sorry, um…Sulu?" He looked at Spock, who was looking at him with uncharacteristically rapt attention. It broke as soon as it was there, and he ended up looking away.

"Hikaru is well mannered, and would mesh personality wise with me quite easily."

"It can't be Scotty."  
"…I do not believe that inquiry even deserves an answer." Jim cackled.

"Awe, some on. Scotty's hilarious."  
"I am afraid I do not understand your logic as to why that would benefit me in a relationship."

"Because. He's loads of fun, and you're no fun at all." Jim smiled, looking back at him. The smile faded, the wilt in Spock's shoulders hinting at its eminent return. "Hey, least I didn't say me."

The wilt returned.

Something warm and tight and very constricting wound itself around Jim's lungs as he watched the neutrality give way, even minutely, to a blankness that could not even be classified as emotionless, to those that knew the man beside him. His shoulders were neither relaxed now stiff, but slumped forward. His head was tilted back, eyes closed and his brows just barely moved inward. The crease of his mouth pressed his lips just once, briefly, almost to quick to be perceived. The constriction became cold and unyielding.

"Spock—"  
"Here's your Coors." The waitress smiled, handing him the new cup with a napkin and, quite obviously, a room number on it. Jim looked up at her and mumbled a thank you, only to look back and find the seat beside him gone. He sat up, twisting to watch Spock's back vanish into the resort.  
"…Mother fuh…"

He decided not to go after him. Instead, he stayed by the pool and stared at the waterfall, as if it's babbling gemstones of water would randomly blurt out how exactly to handle this situation. Instead of telling Jim what he should do, it tricked him and drugged his drink to knock him unconscious all over his lawn chair. Or he just fell asleep. He liked the idea of the waterfall drugging him better.

He knew it was the dream again. He could tell from the high, sloping gold ceiling, and the warmly coloured marble floor. He could feel the constricting shoes; hear them clicking along beneath him. The dress felt heavier, and he felt the silk of his gloves rubbing on his arms almost uncomfortably. Something else rubbed him uncomfortably too.

The ballroom was empty.

He stopped in the center, looking around at the familiar landscape. Empty dinning tables with their untouched table clothes. The band platform had the instruments, but no men to play. The lights were low, almost out, casting the room in a shadowy blanket that made him feel alone and watched at the same time. His fingers found their way to his neck, playing nervously with the diamonds that hung around it.

"Hello?" Only his echo responded. He turned in a slow circle, looking out past the columns until he found the ballroom doors. Why he knew there would be any, he wasn't sure, but it was worth a shot.

Just outside was a large, higher-ceiling entry way. He was facing the front door, set into a large marble wall. On either side of him, elegant curved stair cases loomed up from the floor above his head, leading the way to somewhere questionable he had yet to explore. But that was his job, exploring. Space, dream castles, they were all the same right? So, gathering his petticoats with as much dignity he could muster, he clip-clopped his way across the stone floor and up the carpeted stairway. At the top was another wall, and another door. He tried the handle and, though it resisted, it finally allowed him through.

And he stepped out into a dessert, awash with rolls of heat waves off the sand. He looked over his shoulder at the marble walls of a castle, then back out at the vast red landscape in front of in incredulously.

"…It's a dream," he reminded himself, and stepped out into the sand. He was shocked when bare feet hit the soft, almost silken softness beneath him. He looked down to a pair of black pants and bare feet, wiggling his toes into the warmness that was this place. He looked out past himself, then up at the violet-blue sky as its sun (Suns? Where was the light even coming from?) began to set. "…To go where no man has gone before."  
"On the contrary," said a familiar voice behind him. He turned, and almost smiled at the vision of his first officer in, oddly, similar black pants, sandals and a blue knit sweater that looked both to big for him, and horrifically itchy. And a bit tacky. "Man has been here."  
"Where is here?" Jim crossed his arms, sweat-slicked chest sticking to them uncomfortably.

"…Home," he said airily, looking out into the sands. Dream-Spock was a lot more emotional than Real-Spock, Jim thought quietly. "It's both barren, and non-existant."

"If this is suppose to be Vulcan, where's the civilization?" Jim frowned. Spock looked back at him.  
"I did not say it was Vulcan." He shifted, looking down at his sandals. "I said it was home."  
"What does that mean?"  
"It is barren and non-existent."

"You've said that all ready." Jim frowned. "…What does that mean, Spock?"

His company was quiet for a moment, before looking up with tears in his eyes. He looked about to say something, before Jim felt the world tilt and go dark. Then, very abruptly bright.

And very hard.

"Fuck," he grunted, rolling over on the concrete beside the pool. "Ow."

"Morning, sleeping beauty." McCoy stood over him, an umbrella drink in one hand and a magazine in the other. He looked freshly out of the pool, and was contentedly dripping all over Jim's personal space.

"You swim with your shirt on?"  
"Shut up, Jim." Jim sat up, rubbing his shoulder. "Nice fall by the way. I saw you tilting from down the sidewalk and was just waiting to here the 'whump.'"  
"Thank you, best friend, for saving me from my concrete-y aches and pains."  
"I was more concerned about you hitting the concrete with that hard head of yours." He tossed the magazine onto Jim's chair and offered a hand to help him up. "You were dead-out."

"Thanks," he took his hand, hoisting himself up. "Was I really?"

"Out like a damn light. Your head okay?"  
"I'm fine. Did I crack the concrete?"  
"Damn near."

They shared a friendly smile.

"It's about five. You want to go get dinner or something?"  
"Sure," Jim stretched, smiling. "You going to shower?"

"No, I want to get wet."  
"Kinky." McCoy rolled his eyes.

"I'll meet you in the main lounge at five thirty."  
"Make it a date." Jim winked. McCoy rolled his eyes again, walking back inside with a thick sip of his fruity whatever. Jim grabbed his own beer, eyeing the room number. "…Could make it two…Hm." After a moment of quiet deliberation, the napkin was shoved unkindly into his pocket and he sauntered off to his room to change.

"So you're convinced Spock has a man-crush on you."  
"Mhmm."  
"And that he wants a real relationship."  
"Mhmm."  
"And you don't want a real relationship."  
"Hm-mm."  
"You just want to bone him."  
"Mhmm." McCoy stared over his salad as his friend shoveled potatoes into his mouth, a bit awe struck. He set his fork down slowly, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together under his chin. Jim paused, looking up. "…S'impolite to stare."

"Have you lost what little mind you had left, man?"  
"I beg your pardon?" Jim frowned, setting his fork down. "Why does this shock you?"  
"Why does it—because, Jim. If Spock really did all but confess he has a 'man crush' on you, you really think he'd let you just romp around then leave him alone?"  
"Why not?" Jim arched a brow. "He knows I'm not into the whole 'commitment' thing. Freaks me the fuck out."

"This is Spock we're talking about, Jim. A Vulcan. Mr. 'I am an unfeeling prick and have no beating heart, the pure pressure of my diminutive stare is enough to pump my blood.'" He dropped his hands into his lap. "For God Sake, Jim. There's no way you're getting into his swim trucks while he's in his right mind."  
"We could fix that."  
"And that would be rape." McCoy gave him a look and Jim sat back with a huff, crossing his arms. "Why don't you just…leave him alone?"

"What do you mean?"  
"Like...act like you don't have a clue." He tilted his head back against the chair behind him, looking down the slope of his nose at his companion. "Give him his dignity, Jim. Right now he doesn't have much left besides that and his brain."

"..." Jim took a long breath, closing his eyes. "Fine."  
"You wont regret it, Jim. Just be content with being his friend. Maybe it'll pass, maybe it's a phase."

"Mm." Jim stood, much to his friend's disgruntlement.

"And where are you going?"  
"Room three eighty six." He smiled, waving over his shoulder. "Thanks for dinner."  
"Damn it, Jim."

It took him about twenty minutes to actually find the little waitresses room. Most of that time included him just walking, weaving up and down aisles of rooms and thinking. Thinking and Jim Kirk never meshed well, he decided. He either did something and got in trouble, or managed to not do something and get in worse trouble. He shoved his hands in his pockets and fingered the soft cloth of the napkin, eyes locked on his feet; he began to count his steps. Somewhere between sixty and sixty eight he ran into someone who was quite dense, or just very balanced, knocking him a bit off kilter. Warm hands caught his shoulders lightly, corrected his posture, then fell away.

"Your mood seems diminished, Jim."  
"Hey Spock." He rubbed his shoulder where the hands had been, feeling prickles much like it was falling asleep. Did he grab him that hard? Not nearly for long enough. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."  
"I find that that particular answer is a trend." He crossed his arms behind his back. Jim looked up and smiled to himself; the man before him was soaked to the bone, black hair sticking to his temples and ears in a disarray that most would find alarming. "Did Scotty push you into the pool?"  
"Affirmative."

"I'm sorry." His smile broke out, small and insecure. Spock barely arched a brow, but did not elaborate him confusion.

"You seem perverse, Jim. Your attitude is not as flamboyantly self-centered as is normal. Has something occurred you would desire to converse about privately?"  
"No, no, I'm okay." He looked down again. "I'm actually kind of lost."  
"Lost?"  
"Can't find a room a friend's in. Got an email from them today. Um, room three eighty six." He looked back up, watching Spock attempt to smooth his bangs back down out of their water-induced frenzy. "Do you know where that is?"

"I do. Would you like me to accompany you to the room?"  
"I would." He smiled, and Spock turned and began sloshing back down the hallway. "...So...what happened?"  
"I was in fact speaking with Lieutenant Uhura about professional relationships. Mr. Scott has had at least six Guinness, I believe, and was more than happy to come barreling into my side and that force threw my equilibrium off. In consequence, we both found ourselves in the pool."  
"Scotty's a retard," Jim smiled brightly.  
"I do not believe Mr. Scott is in any way mentally retarded. Inebriated, yes."  
"Are you cold?" They looked at each other, Spock with vague curiosity. He then looked back forward and turned down a hallway. "I mean, cause it's air conditioned in here and you're all wet."  
"I am cooler than is pleasant, but not so much so that the discomfort is unbearable." He spoke slowly, almost as if he was skeptical. Then, as a second thought; "Thank you for your concern, Jim."

"You're quite welcome. Damn, I really got myself lost." He laughed, rubbing his hair.  
"I found you in the five hundred forty through five hundred sixty area."  
"...Would explain it."

Small talk about the weather ensured, followed briefly by Scotty's retarded-ness and Spock's defense that he was not handicapped, Spock's displeasure with his still wearing swim shorts, his oddly developed affection for flip-flop sandals, and Jim needing a hair cut.  
"Three eighty six," Spock announced finally. Jim stopped, smiling at him. "I will bid you farewell here. I desire a warm shower and new clothing."  
"Of course. Thanks for the tour, Spock."  
"It was my pleasure Jim."

There it was, that clench in his chest as the pause went on just that fractional moment to long. Then Spock turned, and Jim watched his retreating back vanish behind a corner. He stared at the empty space, almost begging it to produce his friend and have him say something like 'in second though, I'm bored, come drink with me again' or something. But of course this dimension's fate hated him, and no drink-desiring Spock was produced. So instead, he knocked on the door. The cute little waitress answered, smiled charmingly at him and invited him in. He shut the door behind him, unaware of the man just around the corner who closed his eyes with a hidden pain behind them, before he just walked away.

She was soft, and curvy, and bouncy and kind of quiet. She was warm, and had short nails, and could pull his hair. She was a quiet sleeper and a deep one too; she didn't even move when he left her room that night with a guilt in his chest and a bad taste in his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

She was soft, and curvy, and bouncy and kind of quiet. She was warm, and had short nails, and could pull his hair. She was a quiet sleeper and a deep one too; she didn't even move when he left her room that night with a guilt in his chest and a bad taste in his mouth.

-

The massive entryway to the dream castle loomed above him. The winding stair cases extended up and past his head on either side of him, and he couldn't be sure but the dress felt even more heavy than it had ever before. He gathered it up despite himself, and started to the staircase he had left alone the last time he had visited. At the top was a different kind of door, one that looked made of crystal. He leaned forward, seeing figures behind it, but their image was distorted and twisted through the stone.  
"Well, here we go again," Jim whispered, pulling this door open. He was met immediately with loud, boisterous laughter and yelling, crashing, and a wooden mead mug when flying past his face. He frowned, stepping down off the door jam and onto hard, old wooden floors.

Men sat in every corner, drinking, with their broad shoulders hunched and shaking with drunken giggles. Women in short dresses served them with coy smiles. Though all the joy in the room avoided a far corner, with a familiar pair of pointed ears peeked out through a black mess of hair. Spock had his back to him, and despite himself Jim smiled-mess of hair was right, Spock looked thoroughly run through the ringer. He wove his way around, not noticing his clip-clop shoes were gone, and took the wooden seat beside his friend, who had large hands wrapped firmly around a mug of his own. His clothes looked old, a science-blue long sleeve shirt with a brown leather vest over it. He had dirt on his cheek, and his lip was slip. That last part made Jim frown deeply, directly contrasting his smile from before.  
"Spock?"  
"Good evening, Jim." Spock bobbed his head slowly in greeting, speech slurred just a bit. He turned to look at him, the eye having been away from Jim swollen and a frightful rainbow of purple and yellow bruises.  
"Spock, what happened?"  
"It's home," He shrugged lazily, looking away from his friend and back down into his mug. "It is young, and barbaric."  
"This is the desert place?"  
"No, Jim, this is just home." He sighed heavily, eyes growing tired. "It was barren before. Now it is come to light. But it is still young."  
"Who hit you?" He curled his fist on the table top. "Spock."  
"You do not want to know." He lifted the mug to his lips and took a long sip, closing his eyes.  
"Like hell I don't. Tell me who fuckin' hit you." He hit the table, and pain shot up his arm. He looked down, then felt the blood rush out of his cheeks. Bloody knuckles.  
"It has come to light, home." Spock looked back at him. Jim looked slowly back up to his friend. They stared at each other for a long time, before Spock let a ghost of a smile cross his lips. "You understand."  
"Spock…" Jim reached for him.  
"Home, Jim." Spock looked at his hand. "Where is home, Jim?"

Lights came on, and Jim's eyes shot open. He groaned, covering his eyes with his arms. "Fucking hell."  
"It's nearly noon, Jim, and I've got some bad news."

"Can you turn the fucking light off first?" Jim sat up, rubbing his eyes. "God damn, Bones."  
"The ship's been damaged. Again. And just ours. Again. I don't know why fate hates us more than any other star fleet vessel in history, but it does, and we're stuck."

"Again," Jim added helpfully, looking up at him with a red-eyed deadpan. "I'm not even almost surprised anymore." He sighed heavily, resting his elbows on his bent knees. "What happened?"  
"Scotty said had something to do with the way they docked us. Someone didn't do it right, messed up something in the hull. Hell I don't know, nothing he says makes sense to me." The bed dipped with the added weight of another body. "Ship went boom."  
"Ship goes boom an awful fucking lot." He looked at him, blinking owlishly. "I think I'm losing my mind."  
"Gee, when did you notice?"  
"Shut up, I'm serious." He leaned back against his pillows, frowning. "I'm having these bizarre dreams still."  
"You're distressing." Bones shook his shoulder gently, smiling amicably at him. "Relax, they're just dreams." Jim nodded slowly, closing his eyes. Then a thought struck him.

"Hey, Bones?"  
"Hm?" He moved to get up.

"Where is home?" He looked up at him, eyes serious. "What's the phrase?"

"Home is where the heart is, Jim." Bones arched a brow. "Weren't you the one to say it about the Enterprise?"

"Fuck." He sprawled back out across his bed, staring at the wall. "That's what I was afraid of."

Breakfast ensued.

Awake and more alert with coffee in his clutches, he had more of a mind to comprehend 'something's wrong with my ship' as apposed to 'I need Dr. Freud.' Bones explained as best as he could, and in the end it sounded like someone new had tried to hook up the docking arms to seems in the ships outer layer, as apposed to clearly marked connection hubs that could have only been more obvious is Scotty had painted 'look, here is a connection hub, to connect the ship' above them. All in all, the idiotic damage brigade left he and his men stranded in paradise for another two weeks. Bittersweet, Jim decided.

"Well, we could be stuck worse places." He shoveled another spoonful of biscuits and gravy into his mouth with a shrug. "I mean, s'nice here."  
"You're about to itch out of your skin to get back up in the bridge, Jim."

"Only a little." He smiled at his friend, who just rolled his eyes.

"Spock's the one who told me. He said he's been up and down a few times to get new clothing. We should do the same."  
"I've got at least another two days worth of clothes. If I get up there, you wont be able to get me back down." Jim sighed, looking out over the other patrons of the restaurant. Something blue caught his eye and he glued them there. Spock, was having breakfast with Uhura. And was still in swim trunks? "I thought he'd be in regulation clothes after going back to the ship."  
"He's been sitting there the entire time we've been eating." Bones followed his gaze. "He said he didn't want to draw unnecessary attention."  
"Also known as 'I don't want Scotty to ruin my good clothes in the pool.'" He tongued around the rim of his cup for his straw, keeping his eyes on his first officer. Finding purchase, he took a sip of orange juice, and mused internally about how very serious both his crewmen looked. They were both just slightly leaning towards each other, her eyes looked angry, and if anyone had been looking besides Jim, Spock didn't look to pleased either—though, the very minuet coming together of his brow was just that, small, and Jim was probably the only one to notice. Well, maybe Uhura. They were both talking at the same time, which was odd for them. They seemed like very turn-based conversationalists when he spoke with them. But, they were talking fast and over each other here. A sharp pain in his knee made him jump, and his eyes snapped to Bones with an accusing air. "Um, yeah, ow?"

"You're staring like a fish. And you look ridiculous, drinking your drink like that." He rested his hands on the table. "What's on your mind now?"  
"They're talking over each other," He set his cup down with a bit of a pout. "Very quickly. Which is weird because it doesn't suit them at all. I mean, I've never seen either of them talk over someone before, unless it was Spock talking over me because I'm being a deuce."

"They're leaving now, in any case." Jim's eyes swung back in their direction and watched, then went wide as they leaned over the table. She kissed his cheek and smiled at him, and they both left very quickly. "Well, that's interesting."

"What the hell was that?" He stared at their empty table. "I thought they hit splitsville."  
"Well, that looked more friendly than dating. Though, I'm surprised the hobgoblin didn't burst into flame at a sign of affection."  
"Shut up Bones." Jim got up, furiously irate. He didn't know why, but he had a sudden need to go beat the shit out of something, or someone. "I'm going for a run." He turned, leaving his friend with the tab. Again.

"I need new friends. Christ..." 

Turned out the resort had more land than Jim initially thought. The front desk offered him a map, and the nice woman even drew him a few running trails. He thanked her and took it, but true to his reputation ignored any guide lines and ran willy-nilly through the floral underbrush. It loomed overhead in shading layers, the suns peeking through and casting pastel colors across his face every now and again when a leaf was thin enough to be opalescent. It was overall very quiet, an occasional hiss or quawrking from a native animal, but mostly the loudest part was his heavy foot falls or his breathing. Or the occasional 'thump' when a root was a bastard and caught his foot, sending him sprawling across the forest floor with an indignant shout of a word his mother would smack him twice for. He ran for at least an hour, maybe hour and a half, before coming short to a natural spring. A short waterfall, maybe about seven feet, fed the tiny lagoon crystal-clear and pretty near room temperature water, he surmised. It took about ten minutes to properly stop his panting, but he managed it. His shoes, shirt and socks were kicked to the wayside, and he found himself knee-deep in warm water. The pool floor was soft and mossy, slick in some places, but not rocky; sandy almost, soft and molded to his feet. Some aquatic creatures swam around him, no bigger than his hand, with bulbous eyes that looked up at him curiously. He scooped one up once, and decided to call them 'Super huge sea monkeys.' They left him alone for the most part, and he took a place beneath the falling water to rinse off his sweaty self. Along with his oils, the water washed the tension out of his shoulders. His face tilted skyward and let it crash down across his cheeks, sighing to himself. This was better, he thought to himself; perfectly rustic, totally natural. No buildings, no running water, no beds. Just a natural pool, a natural shower, and soft grass just outside it's edges. The notion brought a smile to his face, and then quickly swept it away as the waterfall filled his mouth and he had to look back down to cough it back up.

After his relaxing pseudo-shower, Jim sunk down into the calmer waters and paddled his way around. It was a pretty decent size, if not more than three feet deep at it's middle, but comfortably warm. Eventually his mind got bored of bliss, and he began poking around for some rocks, piling them along the edge to make a bench for himself. When finished, the set down along one of the deeper edges and splayed his arms out on either side of him over the shore, laid his head back and sighed deeply. "Maybe I'll just stay out here for the next two weeks." He snorted. "Maybe not, Bones would have a cow. 'We don't need intergalactic ticks on this ship, Jim.'" Something shiny caught his eye, despite how idiotic it sounded, and snagged his attention. He tilted his head to the side, eyes darting this way and that to find it again. There. He sat up, leaning on the shore with one arm to look closer. It was to high up to be a belt buckle. "A locket? Someone's running all the fucking way out here?"

Turns out they were walking.

"...Just say something to him. Do you know where we're going?"

"To imply I am lost, Nyota, is a fault only you and the Captain seem to possess."

"Shit," Jim darted across the pool, ducking into the tiny crevice behind the falling water that seemed to have been waiting for this moment. "Talk about cinematic."

"I just haven't seen the path—anyway." The red and tan blob stepped out into the clearing around the pool, followed by a taller, paler blob with a blue middle. "Just talk to him. Maybe if you talk to him about it, it'll give you some closure."  
"We have rounded this metaphorical bush many times." The blue blobs middle suddenly became pale, with a blue bottom. The tan blob was slowly shucking her red middle too, leaving red lines on top and on bottom. "I will not express those feelings so openly when he is, as you called him, a man whore."

"He is. Which is why you really need to get over him." The tan blob began putting the darker blob on top of her head into a bun, Jim assumed, because it suddenly got shorter. "This is really neat. You found this yesterday?"  
"Indeed," and beneath the neutrality, Jim heard a small hint of relief at the subject change. "I was uncomfortably close to expressing myself. I went on a therapeutic walk." Jim relaxed something, about Spock talking to Uhura. He was more relaxed, it didn't sound quite so stiff. Like part of his Vulcan mask was gone, seen through by her and thus why wear it? Hearing something like 'I was uncomfortable' from Spock of all people made his stomach flutter, and his cheeks heat. Which was weird, because he usually only felt that way when he watched someone undress. Though, symbolically hearing something like that was kind of like Spock undressing, removing a layer of himself he always wore around everyone else on the ship.

"You've been uncomfortable this entire trip," the tan blob slid into the water, then sighed.

"I do not usually recall dreams," Spock-blob followed her into the water, though looked a good distance away. "As of late, they have been increasingly more vivid."

"Again?" Uhura-blob shifted. "How?"  
"I informed you of them previously." Spock-blob seemed to be examining the water.

"Yeah, the ball thing." She giggled quietly. "And Jim in a dress? That's hilarious."  
"I do not believe I see anything humorous."

Jim could hardly believe it. Same dreams? No, a coincidence. This fate seemed to have it out for him, as Oldie-Spock had so kindly pointed out. But really, Jim in a dress?

"Sorry, so you've had more?"  
"After the initial dream of the ball room, it progressed to an expanse of sand that looked quite like Vulcan country side. Baron, open, with no civilization." There was a pause, and some splashing. "I attempted to inform this mental representation of Jim of my feelings. However, none of this seemed to compute for him. It then progressed to a tavern, where I began asking the tavern patrons if they had seen my captain. A fight ensued for my being something they referred to as a 'poof,' and I remained silent. Jim entered, and he seemed to realize what I had been trying to tell him. But he wouldn't voice it."

"For someone who claims no imagination, Spock," Uhura-blob put her blobby hands on her blobby hips. "You have a very active one."  
"They are increasingly alarming in their nature." Spock-block sat himself on the shore with his feet in the water. "As if they are guiding me towards a climax that I am quite unsure if I am not properly prepared for."

"Love isn't something you prepare for, Spock." She sighed heavily. Jim caught his breath. "You love Jim. It's just how it is."

"Do you enjoy the lagoon?"

The topic turned away from him, and Jim let his shoulders relax. He stared into the falling water without seeing it, mind whirring. If it could smoke, it probably would have been. Love, Spock loved him. And Spock loving something is not like a human loving something, Jim immediately decided, because Love is an emotion and Spock actively represses those with a vengeance. So for Spock to love someone, it has to be a big, massive, real love. Spock loved Jim. Even though he slept around, and was illogical, and idiotic, rash, loud, and didn't think things through. Even though he was childish, and had father issues, and couldn't contain himself if a competitive situation arose. Even though they had fought each other. Even when they had fought side-by-side.

Even though he's Jim.

He took a short breath to make sure he was still breathing. He felt like someone was jumping up and down on his chest, knocking his breath out over and over again. Why was this such a big deal, people had loved him before. Why did hearing Spock loved him twist his insides into knots? Why did the world suddenly go black?

"..said, Christine, really, you look fine." Splash. Uhura and Spock looked over in time to see someone pale and blond dip under the water. More fall to the side and slid under. "Oh God." Uhura waded over as fast as she could. Spock was up and out of the water in a flash, running along the shore. He made it before her, jumping in to heave the unconscious man onto his back.

Ten minutes and Spock doing a quick check over everything, they both stared down at their unconscious captain in varying degrees of 'oh shit'.

"He's heard everything," Nyota said slowly, before looking up at her companion. Spock was completely and totally blank, from his posture to the numbness in his eyes. He just stared at the quite form between them with absolutely no emotion at all. And that was always, always the worst. "Well, maybe this is a good th—"  
"We need the Doctor to do a proper examination to the Captain." Spock stood, lifting Jim into a cradle, and started back the way they had come. "Come quickly Lieutenant, it is beginning to enter twilight."

She stood with a soft, defeated sigh, gathering their clothing they had discarded. "Yes sir," she mumbled, before hurrying along after him.


	5. Chapter 5

Short chapter because it's a transition (from Leave to Ship). Also, Im sorry it's been a long time. I've had an emotional rollercoaster lately (see Deviantart Lit-Mech). I hope to be updating regularly again.

Hope you forgive me. ):

-w-

"He heard everything..."

_This was like no dream he'd had before. He'd had some weird ones, he'd had some nice ones. This with neither. Again he found himself in the ballroom, though now gold banners hung from the rafters. He was lifted, high on some very comfortable chair, looking down on a scene that was hardly settling at all. Knights in red armor, held a very disturbed looking Spock by chains across his wrists.  
"The traitor, Sir," one of the helmets mumbled, and though the voice was familiar, Jim couldn't place it. "Who sabotaged your kingdom." Jim rose with that, watching the knights shove Spock to his knees. Again, the man looked more human than Vulcan, eyes wide and expressive beneath a well beaten exterior. "His verdict?"  
"Jim," Shirtless, scuffed and broken, his voice even cracked; what happened? "Jim, Jim, accept it—please, this isn't my fault."  
"Silence," and then the topper on the nightmare. It was one of those moments that sealed you in the dream, wouldn't let you out, and yet some sick side of you didn't want to leave. One of the knights forced Spock to grip the red-hot end of a coal pick. It stunned him, deafening him, and paralyzed him—all watching Spock screaming and throw his head back. The knight just held his hand their, pressing all of the sensitive parts of his hand against the flaming end; steam rose. When he was able to let go, bits of skin were left behind. And yet, Spock didn't silence himself.  
"Jim, Jim please—it's not my fault. It's not my fault, I'm sorry Jim. Please, please don't—" Again with the hot iron; again with the screaming agony. And all Jim did...was watch._

Outside in the waking world, Jim was sprawled out comfortably on his own bed. Bones, Spock and Uhura were with him, two of the three huddled around his bed to check for vitals; one stood alone in the corner of the room. Occasionally the doctor would turn around and snap at him for being useless, and each time became further unnerved by the stony silence he received in reply.

_Spock continued to plead, and the louder he pleaded, the longer he held the iron. The longer the iron was held, the more blistered bloomed across his palms, scarring, marring, damaging his senses. Tears rolled down his face, and it wasn't until Jim screamed for silence—despite himself—that Spock hung his head and cried.  
"Please...Jim," he whispered, shoulders shaking. "Please...take me home..."_

"He's coming around. Jim?"  
"Mm..."  
Somewhere beyond his waking conscious, a door shut and someone said something far away. Some pokes here, prods there, and eventually he came to full consciousness. Turns out, the entire time he was filled in on the situation – you passed out in a pool, we brought you here – Spock was never mentioned. The name 'Dr. McCoy' or 'I' took the name's place in the story. 'Dr. McCoy and I were out walking.' 'Nyota and I carried you back for better examination.' No one mentioned Spock; they had written him out of the story. For some reason that was painful, but not like it should be. It was painful because they were lying out-right, not because a savior was ignored. It was painful because, his two best friends were re-writing a story for him, not because a...man, was written out. He hurt because of them...and not because of loss.

That night when he dreamed, he dreamed of nothing he could remember. No knights in red armor, no taverns or gowns. No Spock. When he woke up, he was okay with that. And the fact he was okay with that unnerved him. Bones took him to breakfast and lunch. He spent dinner out at the pool, drinking beer and eating peanuts; hit on girls once and a while. That was his routine for the next two weeks. Sleep dreamless, wake up, eat with bones, and hit on girls; occasionally broken up by a dinner with Bones, or a pleasant talk with Uhura, or sleeping with one of the girls he hit on. Or Scotty; doing anything. Not once did he see, hear, look for, seek out, run into, or notice Spock anywhere. Not in the halls, not in his head, not in conversation; nowhere. No one spoke of him. And Jim didn't ask. Oddly enough, at least to him, for the first time since Academy...he didn't care, either.

At the end of the two weeks, Bones came to collect him for their return to the ship.  
"You know my favorite part about vacations, Bones?" Jim grinned over his shoulder as he packed his suitcase.  
"Girls?"  
"No but good one."  
"I'm shocked, beer?"  
"Also good one, but, no."  
"Then do enlightening me, oh great James of Kirk."  
"I," he slung the bag up onto his shoulder, feeling oddly warm in his regulation pants and boots. "Love going home."  
That's when something finally made him care. Something in the back of his head clawed at him, almost painful enough to make him wince. But it was gone, just as fast as it came.  
"I should have assumed. Will you need some alone time with the navigational systems?" The hip-thrust Jim replied with made Bones roll his eyes. "Right, come on, Captain."  
"After you, Doctor Sir." Another roll of the eyes, and they were off. Somewhere down the hall they accumulated Nyota, who began in almost immediately on work-related nonsense Jim's brain was still too far away on Vacationland to comprehend. So instead of trying, he just nodded and 'uh-huh''d when it was necessary; occasionally a 'sounds good'. Jim's late sleeping habits left them at the end of the beaming team, letting them wallow in small talk and things Jim didn't feel the need to listen to. Like always.

"...We'll be headed into Gamma-Zed airspace by oh-five hundred," Uhura was off again on a tangent. "It's just a scouting. Spock, Scotty and you are going, Leonard."  
"Ehy ehy, why am I not going?" Jim woke up from his absent mind, eying her. She shared a look with the good Doctor, before looking back at him.  
"Because it's not a class B or A mission?"  
"But I always go on ground trips. It's like, my thing."  
"Well you'll be missing this one because you've got a meeting." She looked back down at her datapaDD. "Sorry, Sir." Ah, back to the respect he'd been having withdraws from.  
"Cancel it, I'm going."  
"No," she said bluntly, that motherly tone that says 'don't you argue with me, mister.' So he didn't. But he wanted to. Oh yes did he want to.  
Back on the ship, they were greeted by Scotty (who of course looked like he'd just gotten lucky). "Well, didn't know if I'd be seein' ya' back on 'er, Capt'n." He saluted, and Jim saluted back with a grin.  
"You know I can't keep away from her, Scotty."  
"I know, Sir. She's just to much a beaut'."  
Leaving him to oogle over the ships innards, Jim wound his way back to his cabin. Uhura and Bones left him along the way, allowing him to listen to the comfortable chatter of his crew. Surprisingly, for once, most of it was about his First Officer.

"...Poor mood."  
"Asked for a transfer?"  
"Careful around him, he's vicious."  
"Seems weird, for someone usually so...blank?"  
"I heard he broke a monitor yesterday. Bare-handed."  
"Vulcans. Geez."

"Xenophobe," Jim added to the last comment, grinning happily as he ducked into his chamber. "Broke a monitor—Oh hello." He bared stepped in enough for the door to swing shut before Spock turned around. Immediately the man was rigid, hands behind his back. "Can I help you?"  
"Lieutenant Uhura informed me of a chamber exchanged, Captain. The Captain's Quarters are three doors to our left, refurbished for you, as you'd requested."  
"Could've told me that." Mentally he cursed the woman, but wasn't willing to voice it. When he returned to the man's attention, the room dropped several degrees. Though, why, escaped him completely. "I'll be going then."  
"We will be leaving dock in fifty eight point four one minutes, Sir. Your presence is requested on the bridge for departure."  
"Right, right." Jim waved over his shoulder as he left. "See you then, Mr. Spock." The door swished shut before he could be answered.

Inside, Spock wilted visibly—and only in the confines of his own room. The bed creaked when he collapsed back on it, lifting shaking hands over his eyes. His computer chirped at him 'new mail.' His clothes remained unpacked in his bag on the desk. The sheets remained half applied to his bed beneath him. The bathroom needed cleaning. Clothes he'd worn from the last two weeks in this room, his room...Jim's room...remained strewn across the floor. His boots were unzipped, his hair was a mess, he couldn't find his miniature phaser; all hell. All hell, he muttered—something he'd heard his mother say when she was very upset and thought herself alone. While his emotions battled against his protective walls, while the leaks in his damn let tears make rivers, while his hands burned for no reason as If set aflame, he couldn't stop. His heart kept beating. Neurons kept firing. Beneath him, down in the bowls of the ship, the engines hummed to life. Three doors down, Jim would be de-robbing, and taking a shower. He'd drop his clothes all over the floor because he was lazy; not because he'd thrown them there in a fit of rage. He'd tilt his face up against the spray to relax, not to convince himself it was the water running hot streams down his cheeks. He'd dry himself gently and calm, not tense and trying to scrub away a part of himself. He'd check his mail and create a reply that was witty, not stiff and uniform to hide the broiling monster dwelling beneath his surface. Why? Because he felt none of these things, none of the pain in his hands, none of the breaking barriers, none of the melting heart or sinking stomach. His heart didn't skip when Spock walked in the door, he didn't have dreams of Spock's hands on him. He didn't cry over his own feelings because they frightened him. He didn't because he was James Tiberius Kirk, not Spock. He was human, not Vulcan. He wasn't in love.  
He wasn't in love.


End file.
